The iron gate of the prison clanged shut, sealing the twins, Rohak, and the remaining Whisperers inside the damp, suffocating cell. Marketu stood outside, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.
"You think you can handle the world because Arya won that one match against Upendra?" he sneered. "You have no idea what's coming your way."
No one responded. The torchlight illuminated the hardened expressions of the captives, their silence a defiant answer. Marketu chuckled, satisfied. He turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows.
Back in the castle, Arya paced in his chamber, unease settling like a stone in his gut. The message had been clear—Raghav, Rudra, and Rohak were after smugglers, expected to return in two days. But something about it gnawed at him.
"We need to be ready," Arya murmured.
Kalanemi, ever his steadfast advisor, nodded. "This is no mere setback. Someone wanted to cripple us just as we started gaining ground."
Arya's fists clenched. If this was an attack on his friends, he would not let it go unanswered.
In the jail, whispers cut through the dead silence.
"You said someone killed the three mystery men before I was taken," Raghav said to Rudra, his voice low. "Did you notice Marketu's reaction in the jungle? He hurried us away like he feared something."
Rudra frowned, replaying the moment in his mind. "You're right. If Marketu feared this unknown killer, we need to know who that is. But we tread carefully. He might be our enemy—or our only chance."
Nearby, Rohak crouched, speaking in hushed tones to the Whisperers. "Any allies in the factory? A guard, a worker, anyone who could help?"
A murmur of voices. Then one of them nodded. "There's a worker. We helped him before. If he's still grateful, he might assist."
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. The prisoners stiffened as a group of men entered.
Raghav's gaze snapped to their swords. The same design as the ones from the first night. His pulse quickened. He focused on one blade in particular—then realization struck him like a thunderclap.
"Of course!" Raghav's voice was barely above a whisper. "These are the same weapons carried by 'his' guards!"
Rudra's eyes widened. The memory slammed into him. "I couldn't place it before. It all happened so fast during the first encounter."
Rohak leaned forward. "Are you sure?"
The twins exchanged a glance. There was no doubt.
Their chance came quicker than expected. The worker, pale with fear but determined, arrived with trembling hands. "They're leaving with the boxes. Marketu's with them."
He slid three weapons through the bars—two daggers and a sword.
It was more than enough.
Silent nods were exchanged. The sharp whisper of metal against rope followed as bonds were cut. Two Whisperers got to work on the lock, their fingers nimble and precise. A click. The door creaked open.
One by one, they slipped into the factory floor. Slaves and workers toiled, oblivious to their presence. Two Whisperers led the way to a door marked for quality checks. It was small, barely noticeable—a perfect escape route.
One by one, they disappeared into the night.
The twins separated from the group, racing toward the castle. The sky had begun to lighten. They were injured and tired. But they couldn't waste any more time. They had to tell everything to Arya.
As they crossed the castle gates, a strange feeling gripped them. A sensation of wrongness.
Something was off.
They rushed to Arya's chamber. Empty.
They questioned the servants. No one knew where he was.
A sinking dread twisted in their chests as they hurried to the office chambers.
They froze at the door.